No one tried to sell me a private plane this time, but I did get laughed out of the Lamborghini Greenwich tent. I figured I could smooth talk my way into a test drive if I wore enough seersucker. I was wrong. That wasn't much of a surprise, but something else was: I love Packards (I had no idea). On a 90-plus degree day in Greenwich it was time to celebrate American Iron. Rolling sculptures of sheetmetal were on display, ringed by vendors of $100,000-and-up European cars with a legitimate chance to make a sale. You want to recreate the vibe? Have about three beers to give yourself a pleasant, low-grade buzz, get yourself some deck shoes, a belt with whales on it, and two matching dogs on one leash, and then go stand in a sauna with The Girl From Ipanema playing in the background. That's about right. The sights and commentary are in the galleries. As always, the show started in the parking lot. – James Gribbon